


Why Don't You Do Right?

by ll_again



Series: Phases of Domestication [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, Drag Queens, F/M, Jessica Rabbit - Freeform, Mostly Crack, fact: Jim makes a very lovely lady
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 06:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14586780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ll_again/pseuds/ll_again
Summary: Seb arranges for Molly to get an extra special, early birthday present. Jim gets to learn something new about Molly. And Molly discovers one of Jim's deepest secrets.





	Why Don't You Do Right?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BurningLostStars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningLostStars/gifts).



> A slightly belated gift for BurningLostStars' birthday, who wanted Jim dressed as Jessica Rabbit.
> 
> Jim is *obviously* a traditionalist, so he's doing Jessica's routine, which is [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yy5THitqPBw), if you'd like a refresher.
> 
> This wasn't originally going to be part of Phases of Domestication, but I fell in love with Richard, so he's staying. Hopefully I managed to finagle this thing enough so it fits with the other pieces, lol.
> 
> I suppose this is a good time to point out that with this addition, PoD is now *officially* half total crack, half Really Serious Shit. It might give you whiplash.

"Just trust me, okay?"

Molly furrowed her brow, still casting suspicious glances at the dim interior of the nightclub even as she took the seat Seb was holding out. "Of course I trust you," she said. "So, um. This is your local, is it?"

Not quite what she would have pictured, had Molly ever given the subject of Seb's local much thought. But it seemed … cozy was an apt description, and the man behind the bar was wearing a simply _divine_ dress.

"Yeah, no," Seb corrected her quickly. "Hell no. This," he waved at the room, "is your birthday present."

"My birthday isn't for months."

"Yeah, I know. Jim put a reminder in all our calendars." Seb waved over a burly barmaid. "Several, actually."

The barmaid sashayed up to the table. "What can I get you, sweetheart?" he said.

"Tie Me to the Bedpost," Molly said.

Seb pinched the bridge of his nose and made a strangled sort of noise. "Just a beer for me."

After the barmaid sashayed away again, Molly hummed thoughtfully, tapping her fingers on the table. "How many reminders?"

Pulling up the calendar app on his phone, Seb handed it over silently. Molly took it and scrolled … and scrolled … and scrolled. "This is every day for more than a month."

"Thirty six days," Seb sighed, as Molly handed back his phone. One reminder for each year Molly had been on the Earth. Jim was taking no chances that anyone would forget _La Jefa's_ birthday.

She broke into a disgustingly gooey grin, "Oh, Jim's so sweet."

"Sweet?" Seb snorted, nodding his thanks to the barmaid – a different one – who had brought their drinks. "The man shanghaied a _country._ For fun. I mean, a small one, but still."

He watched, amused, as Molly looked up to thank the man who set her fancy cocktail in front of her. The words died in her throat, and she blinked a few times. "Um, thanks," she stammered after too long a beat.

"Sure thing, Miss Molly," he replied with a saucy wink. "Enjoy the show!"

And he sauntered off, Molly still frowning as she watched him go. Leaning towards Seb, she lowered her voice, "Do I know him?"

Seb looked at her over the rim of his glass. "I dunno," he said mildly. "Do you?"

Molly squinted at him suspiciously. "Did you bring me here to see that guy?"

"No, I brought you to see the show." Seb flicked back his hair, grinning at her. "You're really going to appreciate it. Just trust me already."

"Oh fine." Molly swirled the frilly cocktail stick in her drink and took a sip, before side-eyeing Seb. "You promised to make me a birthday cake."

He rolled his eyes. "I'll still make your damn cake. But this is better."

Molly pursed her lips. "Chocolate cake?"

Seb's reply was cut short when the house lights dimmed and the spotlight shone on the closed curtain.

" _You had plenty money 1922_ ," the performer began to sing, sliding one leg through the crack in the curtains seductively before, still singing, he pushed it back entirely just as the band joined the song.

He was dressed in a slinky, barely there sequined gown, accented with purple gloves and a deadly set of heels. His red wig fell over one eye, but the other … even painted purple and trimmed with false lashes, stared out at the crowd with a gaze Molly knew with intimate familiarity.

"Oh my God," she squeaked. Her face bloomed hot and she scrambled for her drink to soothe her suddenly dry throat.

"Told you," Seb murmured, smug.

" _Why don't you do right?_ " Jim Moriarty sang, strutting across the stage, twirling to press his back to the stage arch and sliding down, clutching the arch like a lover.

Molly nearly fainted.

…

"I didn't know you could sing," Molly said a little shyly, as she slipped into the dressing room, shutting the door behind her. She felt quite like a teenager who'd dodged security to sneak backstage and see her favorite celebrity.

Leaning against the door, Molly clutched the doorknob at the small of her back with both hands to brace herself when the room's occupant turned, inhaling sharply as she got a good look at the vision before her. Shamelessly, she raked her eyes from the glittering, pointed tips of his shoes to the flowing wig that crowned his head.

Jim leaned his hip indolently against vanity, striking a sultry pose while he ostensibly adjusted his gloves and waited for Molly to finish her perusal. The obscene slit in his sparkling dress slid open when he shifted, exposing a creamy thigh, and Molly's mouth fell open.

"And I didn't know you had such nice legs," she blurted, somewhat offended by the discovery.

"Hope you said 'goodbye' to Moran," Jim trilled cheerfully. "I am going to eviscerate him."

"Oh you always say that," Molly shot back. "You never do it."

Jim moved forward, wobbling slightly on the first step from the unfamiliar height of his heels before he adjusted and stalked forward nearly as smoothly as normal. "But I mean it this time. Where is he?"

Molly pressed further back against the door, both to support herself and block Jim from opening it. He smirked and kept coming closer, stopping only when a hair's-breadth of space remained between them. "You won't," she insisted. "If you eviscerate Seb, you'll get gut juice all over your dress."

Lifting his arms, Jim laid his hands flat on the door on either side of her head, caging her with his arms and his body. "'Gut juice'?" he asked mildly, those depthless eyes glittering with humor. "Is that the medical term?"

He didn't give her a chance to answer, instead leaning in for a kiss and finding a very willing recipient. Molly clung to the doorknob while Jim nipped at her lips, his artificial chest bumping against hers.

"And your boobs are nicer than mine," Molly murmured when Jim finally lifted away, circling back to her earlier train of thought. "How is that fair?"

Jim moved back, tilting his head as he inspected the racks in question. The crimson fall of his wig slipped over one eye and he pushed it back absently. "I disagree." Moving back to her face, his eyes caught on her mouth with a sudden intensity that struck Molly dumb.

His hand lifted off the door to cup her face, and his thumb slid to the corner of her mouth, rubbing back and forth over her lip, his own mouth parted in stupefaction. Before Molly could ask what had him so captivated, Jim leaned in again and pressed a long, firm kiss to her cheek, then backed away for another look, making a pleased noise low in his throat. He slipped his thumb under her jaw, tilting it up to access her neck, placing a third, deliberate kiss to the place where her carotid throbbed.

"What are you doing?" Molly said, not entirely successful in holding back a giggle. Jim's wig _tickled_.

He reached around behind her, loosening her fingers from the doorknob, before tugging her into the room and setting her in front of the vanity mirror. "Making marks," Jim said in a low voice that thrummed with satisfaction. He settled in behind her, arms twined around her waist and nuzzled his nose against her temple. "Mine."

Molly had a smear of red around her lips, and two distinct, bright red lip prints – one high on her cheekbone and the other barely visible under her jaw.

She met his eyes in the mirror, grinning. "You're such a dork."

Jim fluttered his false eyelashes at her.

"You're so pretty," Molly sighed absently, leaning back and trusting Jim to hold her weight. He shifted a little to distribute their combined weight on his heels a bit better, tightening his hold and pressing her closer.

Molly froze, because _something_ was jabbing her. "...why is there a gun in your garter belt?"

"Maybe I'm just happy to see you."

Twisting around in his grasp, Molly tried to pin him with a glare … but he was so pretty she didn't have the heart. "I know what 'happy to see me' feels like, Jim," she said.

Smirking, Jim released her, pushing open the obscenely high slit in his skirt to fetch a slim, silver pistol from his garter belt. "Safety first," he said mildly, reaching around her to set the gun on the dressing table.

Molly frowned at it. "Why do you have-?"

"Never mind that," Jim cut in abruptly, drawing her attention back to him. "Tell me I'm _pretty_."

Internally, Molly cringed. She'd been hoping Jim hadn't noticed her slight slip a moment earlier, but it looked like she was busted. Externally, she folded her arms over her chest and sniffed. " _Why_ would I do that?"

Teeth flashing in a feral grin, Jim had just bunched up, ready to pounce, when the door opened.

"Jimmy, darling? Are you-Oh!"

Jim's eyes slammed shut. Biting her lip nervously, Molly looked over his shoulder to see the oddly familiar barmaid who'd served them drinks before the show poking his head through the door.

"IT'S JIM," Jim hissed.

Molly's eyes darted to her boyfriend, then back to the other man, as she suddenly realized what made his features so familiar.

"I will _stab you_ in the _eye_ ," Jim muttered.

"Oh my God," Molly gasped, ignoring Jim. "You're-"

"Yes! I'm Richard!" he said, breaking into a wide grin that was an exact mimic of Jim's, minus that psychopathic manic edge.

"No one takes me seriously anymore," Jim pouted, daintily rubbing his temples in despair.

"Don't pout, dear," Richard said, quickly returning his attention to Molly. "Jim didn't tell you about the dresses."

Molly was very nearly petrified, certain that any second Jim was going to pop his cork. She shifted a little, trying to unobtrusively get between him and the pistol still lying on the vanity. "Um… no?"

Richard sighed loudly, rolling his beautifully painted eyes and shaking his head as he shot a disappointed frown Jim's way. "Ah. He didn't tell you about me, period." Cocking his hip, Richard planted his hand there, flamboyantly disapproving. "Well, Jimmy's told me all about _you_ , Miss Molly."

"This is my brother," Jim said, grinding his teeth so hard it was nearly audible. "And the owner of this club."

"Big brother, thank you," Richard corrected, then tossed Molly a sly smile.

She tentatively returned it. "It's, um, very nice to meet you."

"Oh I'm so delighted! And finally!" Richard chirped. "You," he flapped his hand at her with a sly smirk, "are even _more_ adorable than I imagined."

Mystified, Molly glanced at Jim, who studiously refused to meet her eyes, focusing them on the top of the vanity mirror, just over her head, his lips pressed together into a tight line.

"Thanks?" she said.

Richard snorted softly at Jim's radio silence. "But I see I interrupted," he continued smoothly, "so I'll just scoot. Try not to make too much of a mess in here, my dears. My cleaner has mysteriously disappeared."

"Piss. Off," Jim growled.

With a final wink at Molly, Jim's brother ducked out, closing the door behind him.

An incredulous laugh escaped Molly, and she perched on the edge of the dressing table. "So," she chirped. "That's your brother? He's so … normal."

Jim blinked at her. Twice. "...He's a drag queen."

"I mean besides that." Jim tilted his head a bit, conceding the point. Molly leaned back on her hands, tapping a foot idly as she thought out loud, "So your big brother is a drag queen. Who owns a drag club."

"This isn't difficult, Molly."

She ignored him. "And you … moonlight? When you're in the mood to put on a pretty dress?"

"No, of course not," Jim said, shifting restlessly on his feet and very nearly taking a nosedive as he forgot to account for the heels. "Someone's been dipping into the till, so I-" Jim broke off, a frown deeply furrowing his brow. " _Stop_ making those eyes at me, woman."

Molly pressed a hand to her mouth to hide her smile, but she really couldn't stop the way she was looking at him. "You went undercover, in drag, to help out your brother," she sighed, just barely managing not to squeal at him like he was the most precious thing since puppies were invented.

Which he was, but Molly knew better than to say so out loud. She didn't want to embarrass him.

"He's family," Jim said with feigned aggravation at what, to him, was clearly a given rule of the universe. "You have to do things for family."

Molly's hand dropped. "Oh. Oh, Jim," she whispered, emotion overwhelming her and bringing her nearly to tears. "And you told him about _me_."

"He's just my brother." Jim eyed her oddly. "It's not like I told somebody _important_."

A watery smile was the only warning before she launched herself at him, slinging her arms around his neck and pressing her wet cheek to his. "I love you too, you great numpty."

"Molly, I am _appalled_ ," he said, mockingly stern as he attempted to tug her arms off him. "Cease this display at once."

But he didn't deny it, Molly noticed. She backed up, dropping her embrace to cup his face in both hands instead, then pressed an unhurried kiss to his mouth.

Jim froze for a long moment before, ever so gingerly, he opened under her, allowing the kiss to bloom soft and sweet. And when Molly finally moved back, he seemed to be in a daze, eyes lingering on her face and hands clutching her shoulders, preventing her from moving back, had she wanted to do so.

Except she was happy right where she was, in Jim's arms.

"Shoot, I smeared your makeup," Molly murmured, fingertips brushing absently over his cheeks and down to trace along the corner of his mouth. "Doesn't matter," she added decisively, "you're still beautiful."

That snapped Jim back to himself, and a positively wicked smirk curved his lips. "So. This is what gets you going, is it?" he purred, sliding his hands down to her waist and tugging her closer. "I've been wasting my time wooing you with my manly charms, and all I really needed was a bit of eyeliner."

This time, the thing poking her was _definitely_ not a pistol.

"You know you only had to ask, Molly-my-bell," he finished on a low rumble that turned Molly's knees to water.

"It's not the dress," she insisted, clinging to him to hold herself upright. Jim hummed in patient disagreement, sliding his gloved fingers under her shirt with a satin caress that burned along her bare skin. "It's … it's just _you_ , Jamie."

"Don't be coy, darling."

Molly's face turned hot, and she was sure she was as red as a tomato. "I, um. I … didn't know I was into this," she confessed in a small voice.

Jim's smile turned to silk. "Lucky for you," he said, "Daddy likes to play games."

"Oh God," Molly gasped. "Yes please."

…

The club was closed, and Richard was clearing the last of the dirty glasses behind the bar when Molly and his brother finally emerged, Jim once again in his customary Westwood. Sebastian met them by the backstage door. Jim spoke with his man briefly, then gestured for Molly to stay behind with Moran while he crossed the room, stopping opposite Richard at the bar.

"It's taken care of," Jim said, almost bored, leaning against the bar and tapping his fingers on the surface restlessly. His eyes darted everywhere, inspecting the room with that old, familiar curiosity.

Richard sighed, putting away a clean glass and picking up the next one to be dried. "So it was Malcolm?"

Jim nodded once, sharply. "Cleaner was letting him in." His eyes swept over the stage. "Do you need money?"

"Oh, no. I'm sure we'll muddle through, now that you've dealt with the thief," Richard said, knowing full well that in the next few days he was going to stumble across a large amount of untraceable cash.

Jim had always had a bit of a flair for drama. Ran in the family, really, even if they'd taken it in vastly different directions.

"Thank you, Jimmy," Richard said with sincerity. "I don't know what I would have done without your help." He paused, then added flippantly, "I suppose I would have had to call up that Sherlock Holmes."

Jim cocked his head to the side as he thought about that, in just the way he did when something interested him greatly. "I will pay you one hundred thousand pounds if you get Sherlock Holmes into a dress and photograph it for posterity."

"You're on."

And both brothers exchanged identical smirks.

And because he was Jim Moriarty's big brother, Richard felt perfectly at ease when he dared to say, "It was lovely to meet Miss Molly. I thought you'd never introduce us."

"I didn't," Jim said in a voice like stone. "And you haven't met her. Understand?"

"Ooooh." Richard let out a low whistle. "So it is serious, then."

Jim's eyes finally stopped their roving and landed on his brother with a singular fury in those black irises. A shiver ripped through Richard's chest. It had been a long, long time since he'd seen that look from his little brother, but it was every bit as uncomfortable as he remembered.

"Of course, darling," he said, holding up a supplicating hand. "No one knows the great Moriarty. I remember how that works."

Huffing, Jim finally looked away.

"But you know," some little devil made Richard add, "maybe if you got in touch more often, you wouldn't have to remind me."

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, "You're an idiot."

Richard grinned, picking up a new glass to polish. "I have missed our chats."

"Oh yes," Jim said, widening his mouth into a falsely brilliant smile that bared all of his teeth. "Me too."

"Okay, I know _you_ have to be mysterious and aloof," Richard said, rolling his eyes, "but send that girl of yours to visit sometimes."

Jim grunted, not in agreement, but not quite disagreeing either.

"And make me an uncle."

Instead of another glare, as Richard had half expected, Jim's gaze darted across the room, locking onto Molly. "Say that again," he said after too long a beat, and with none of the usual, murderous flair, "and I will push you off a cliff into the sea."

It was one of the mildest threats he'd ever received from his brother, so Richard knew not to take it seriously. "Of course, darling," he said easily, earning him a frown that he ignored. Picking up the last glass, Richard started polishing. "So, I suppose you're off then?"

Jim's eyes went back to Molly, who was, by all appearances, cheerfully verbally torturing Sebastian. She really was simply darling, Richard thought, although he knew better than to say so in front of his thoroughly smitten little brother.

"Yes, we're going," Jim said. As he walked away, he tossed back, "And by the way, I'm keeping the dress."


End file.
